I had a post today but it's gone now. I thought it was fine. It's my brain, not theirs. My memories, not the parts of life they'd like to whitewash, diluting them until they mix into some other memory, forgotten entirely. My history as it pertains to me.
I wrote about a summer early evening a very long time ago when I was ten in which Caleb and Lochlan took me up to the treehouse so I could see it, as I wanted to see it and climb up to it and it was for the older kids. They didn't like me writing about it.
It wasn't anything bad.
It was supposed to be, it could have been, but it wasn't. But I was told to take it down and out of respect to both of them I did and now I'm left with nothing for the day to write about. Caleb has gone back to his side of the property at last, having remained here with us for a few days. It was really nice but then I reminded him and everyone else that he is the Devil so now he's gone again and we go back to being at each other's throats or whatever it is I'm supposed to be here.
I'm not allowed to work things out. Not allowed to bring them up, not allowed to make anyone feel bad, though it's okay if I feel bad, I guess. I'll just jam it back down there in the dark with all the other uncategorized, unexamined memories where they can fester and ache and I'll promise not to make them feel bad.
Ironic. And now, just like that night when I was ten and they gave me beer, my stomach hurts and everything feels weird.
